


Trashy Sluts Get Fucked

by secondhandact



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Cock & Ball Torture, Dirty Talk, M/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-20
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 09:15:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3972421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/secondhandact/pseuds/secondhandact
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro isn’t the possessive, hungry lover you’d dreamed he would be, but hey—you’ll take what you can get. Not many teenagers get to spend a couple nights a week crawling over the subject of their fantasies. So what if he isn’t vocal? So what if he doesn’t spend every waking moment feeling you up? So what if the most you get out of him is a ‘good boy’?</p><p>Of course, him being so stoic is practically an <i>invitation</i> to get rough. Gotta try harder. Right?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trashy Sluts Get Fucked

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fishadee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fishadee/gifts).



It’s become almost routine by now. If there’s takeout for dinner, that means that you’re the one to clean up when you’re done while Bro reclines back on the futon. At some point in time before the credits roll for whatever shitty porn happens to be on when you finish eating you’ll either be on your knees or he’ll have his hand down your pants. Sometimes you both get off; mostly it’s just him, spilling down the back of your throat while he watches TV. Today it’s _Trashy Sluts Get Fucked_ rolling across the big screen, and Bro’s hooked up the gaming system to the computer. You’ve always wondered how he can focus on _Tony Hawk_ while there’s sex happening in the background. If it’s irony, it’s levels that you yourself can’t quite grasp just yet.

Today—like usual—it’s you on your knees. For the moment, he’s got the upper hand and you’re being the obedient little dicksuck he usually bitches that you aren’t. You’re tilting your head and opening up your throat and basically laying it on _thick_ , like they do in the amateur porn you’ve gotten so fond of. You’re doing a damn fine job, if you say so yourself. Not that you’d know, based on the sounds (or lack thereof) coming from above you. It’s no big deal at this point. You’re used to it. Six months, twelve days, three hours and forty-six minutes: that’s how long it’s been since the two of you had started fucking around, and not _once_ have you heard your brother make a peep. He doesn’t moan. Hell, he barely even breathes heavy. If it weren’t for the mess that ends up on your tongue—or your face—you wouldn’t even know he enjoyed it. Every now and then he rocks up against your mouth, or his hand tightens in your hair; but he’s clearly _way too cool_ to make noise when he’s getting his rocks off.

It’s infuriating. You’d started doing research (watching porn) on how to give a better blowjob. You’d looked up sites (watched a _lot_ of porn) that gave suggestions for how to use your hands while working up someone else. You’d even considered probing into the wide wide world of anal, but you’re not sure if you’re ready for that. It’s one thing to think about fucking something, but it’s a whole ‘nother can of worms to think of something—specifically, your brother’s thick dick —fucking _you_. And while you like ( ~~love/are absolutely over the moon for/would give your left nut to be able to see~~ ) the mental image of your big, badass bro on his back with you inside him, you doubt he’s gonna let you have your way. Ever. And he calls the shots. No matter what.

The fact that he’s stoic as a statue doesn’t equate your silence, which means sometimes you’re intentionally obnoxious about the noise you make to fill up the silence he gives you. Your over-the-top vocalization has gotten you in trouble before, but today it doesn’t even seem to get a reaction from him. Too long of a day, you suppose. Whatever.

You hum around his cock while you rake your nails over his thighs and fondle his sac. Your fingers cupping his balls earns you one of those rare twitches of his hips and you shudder, already half-drunk on the feel of him in your mouth. Your fingers sink into the flesh of his sac before you even realize what you’re doing, and suddenly your stoic, impossible-to-ruffle big brother is moaning like a whore on Friday night as you grope at him. It isn’t often you get this into it, and even when you realize you’re grabbing him hard, _way too hard,_ it still takes a second for you to focus long enough to unclench your fingers. When your fingers relax he goes silent and you pause, letting the reality of what just happened sink in. Bro’s still panting, even.

You stare at him. He stares back at you, eyes half-lidded and lips still parted. “Dave—”

Very, very slowly, you squeeze his balls.

Whatever he was going to say is lost in the moan that erupts from him, though this time he’s biting down on it, trying to keep silent. He’s losing the higher ground, and it’s obvious he knows it —he’s trying to summon up the steely, no-nonsense glare that usually freezes your blood, but before he can get it into place, you squeeze them again, twisting as you do, because _oh fuck yes_ you think you’ve found the button that makes your brother fall to pieces and you’ll be _damned_ if you let him regain control right now. 

You twist your wrist and your brother arches against the futon, eyelids fluttering.

“Hot damn.” Emboldened, you flick your thumbnail against his sac and are rewarded with another noise. “Holy _shit._ ” You dig your nails into his skin, and he damn near _whimpers_. “Who knew that all it took was a little bit a’ pain to get you moaning like a whore?”

He scowls; at least, he tries to, because the minute his lips tug downwards you outright _slap_ his dick, and he rocks on the futon, eyes closing. “ _Fuck,_ Dave—” 

Is there a prettier sound than your name on your brother’s lips? You think not. You slap him again and again, watching his cock bob, and you’re rewarded with soft little noises being wrenched from his throat. It’s fucking _amazing._ You’ve never thought of yourself as sadistic, but as you watch your brother try to regain his composure, you feel like you could get used to this. “You always sound like a bitch in heat when shit gets rough?” You pose the question in the most serious voice you can manage, raising a brow at him. His cheeks are turning colors, and you slap his cock again, really hard this time, so hard you feel the heat in your hand afterwards. “I can’t hear you.”

At least he’s given up trying to glare at you. He is, however, slouched down on the futon, thighs spread and hands latched on to the cushion above his head, and he’s still panting. Still watching you. Wordlessly.

This time, when you slap him, you reach down and grab his balls afterwards, getting a good grip on them. “Beginning to think you might just be a trashy fuckin’ pain-slut,” you inform him, and the way his cheeks redden tells you everything his mouth won’t. Smirking, you squeeze him, watching his face as he groans, writhing on the couch. Another squeeze, and you’re pretty sure the sound that escapes him is more sob than moan, which is—honestly—fine by you. “Shit, Bro. You know what trashy sluts get?” Grinning, you run your hand up the length of his cock, before giving it one more good slap. “C’mon. Tell me what happens to trashy sluts.”

Bro closes his eyes. “They get fucked,” he whispers, his voice raspy. “And I swear to god, if you don’t do it right, I’m gonna kick your ass.”

You’re lucky you don’t trip over your pants as you strip yourself out of them. Bro busies himself with stroking his cock while you tug off your belt, and when you let your pants fall to the floor, you keep your belt in hand. “I don’t think I gave you permission to do that.” 

Clearly there’s some lines that he thinks are still in place, because your words make his brows go up. “...The fuck did you say?”

You take in a deep breath, doubling over the belt in one hand. “I said, I didn’t give you permission to do that.” And you bring the belt down, catching his knuckles and the underside of his glans in one good swing. 

He yelps but his hand drops away, cheeks flushed so dark you can see the tips of his ears burning.

Thank god for amateur porn because without it, you’d be lost in the woods without even a compass to keep you safe when it comes to what the fuck you should be doing here. But you’d done your research, and now that research is the only reason you have any clue what to do with your brother when he’s red-faced and demanding you to do things you’d never dreamed he’d want. “Cover your balls,” you order, and you have to resist smiling when his hand moves obediently between his legs. Sucking in another breath, you reach up to catch his chin, forcing him to look up at you. There’s anger in his eyes, but there’s more than that—lust, maybe. Want, definitely. “Don’t look away ‘til I tell you to.”

That’s how you want him, you decide—staring up at you, needy. Vulnerable. It’s with him staring at you that you whip him, swinging your strap across his dick over and over and over again. By the end of it, he’s no longer looking at you, but you don’t care, because you’re busy looking at his cock, the way the head of it is purpling under your swings, the dark color of the shaft. When you trail your fingers over it, he trembles. 

“Tell me you want it.” Already, you’re fishing the bottle of lube out from under the futon, smearing it over your cock. You might not have done this before, but you’ll be damned if you back down now. 

His voice is nearly inaudible. ”Fuck me.”

“What?” Rubbing the head of your cock against his hole, you flick your hand over his sore shaft. He shudders, arching against the cushioning.

“ _Fuck_ , Dave, if you don’t fuck me _right fucking now_ I’m gonna—”

“Gonna what?” Bracing yourself against the back of the futon, you grin down at him. It’s easier than you expected to guide yourself into him, and the way his whole expression changes is almost better than the way he feels, hot and tight, clenching around you. “Gonna _what?_ ”

He sinks back, gasping, and he groans when your hand slides back between his legs. Fuck, that alone is almost more than you can handle, and it takes real effort to keep from just drilling into him right here and now. Thing is, though, you don’t want to drill into him just yet. You’ve waited too damn long to have him at your mercy to go wasting your spunk in one quick orgy of thrusts the minute you’re inside him. As a warning, you flick his dick, right under the head. “Settle down, asshole, else I ain’t gonna give you _shit._ ” You grit your teeth, expecting some resistance—but it works. It actually works, and your brother is limp and trembling, chest heaving as he tries so very, very hard to glare at you. 

You’re obsessed with the way it makes his expression contort, so you slap his cock again. “Damn, Bro. You’re gonna leave me hangin’ like that?” It’s a rhetorical question at this point, so you give up waiting for an answer and lash your belt around his throat. He slaps ineffectually at your hand, but there’s no real force put behind his struggle. It’s almost _too_ easy. Now that he’s down, it’s clear he wants to stay there.

You can’t help it. You laugh.

"C'mon, Bro. Where's all'a that stoic, hardass bullshit you whip out on me day in and day out? Ain't that overwhelmed just by having your lil bro's dick in your ass, are you?" You give a tug on the belt-cum-leash. You’re being a tease, and you know it. You fucking love it. "You need me to give you a rest, little break for snacks and a nap?” It’s impossible to resist delivering another slap to his purpled dick, so you don’t. The noise he makes is fucking _beautiful._ Hmm? Ain't so much of a badass now, are you."

You’re pretty sure you could set an entire forest ablaze with your brother’s face. When he speaks, the words is more gasped than spoken, and a little thrill runs down your spine. “Asshole.”

You fist your hand around his dick. It’s intense, having your over-masculine, hyper-dominant brother on his back, and you have to resist the urge to try and find the right way to make tears spring to his eyes. It’s too soon for that sort of stuff. You might’ve found your brother’s on-button, but that doesn’t mean you’re gonna be a jerk about it.

At least, not as much of a jerk as you _could_ be.

When you get another fistful of balls in your hand, he bucks against you almost violently. You release him a second later, and he collapses, muttering something under his breath. Smirking, you flick his sac. He shudders. “Come again?”

“Said—” He shifts, drawing in a ragged breath. “Y’better make this’n good, ‘cause I’m gonna fuckin’ _murder_ you in your sleep.” 

There’s no venom in his voice, and you smirk. "M'sure you are." You lay the condescension on thick. (Sure, Bro, sure you'll do that.) "You talkin' little deaths or should I take that as a threat, 'cause if it's the latter then tha's the sorriest excuse of a threat I ever heard.” The lube didn’t go far, and this time it’s his dick you’re slathering it over. Of course, the fact that you’re touching him means that he’s lost his coherency again.

When he parts his lips, you’re sure he’s about to give you some sort of protest; instead, he moans, eyelids fluttering. He’s given up, and that’s exactly what you wanted him to do. 

You mean to take your time, to drag it out. You want to punish him for (being a silent, stoic prick for so long, for holding out on you) something. You squeeze his cock and pull back and it’s your name on his lips. There’s no resistance now: it’s like a switch flips in your brain, and then your hand is going like it's a race to make your brother blow before you do.

Which it is. You’re going to be damned if you don’t win one over on Bro here.

"Come on, you asshole. Let’s hear you make some fucking noise for once.” You’re aware that your technique is slipping, but you don’t care, because the sound of your brother is echoing off the walls of the room, underscoring the slap of your hips against his. “Ain't hiding behind your stoic fucking facade this time, can hear how much of a slut you are, groaning like that. Whip your cock and you're so fucking ready for more, can't wait to feel you clench on me. C'mon, Bro, come on!" 

You’d keep going but he’s almost screaming and when he tightens around you you see _stars_ , little explosions of light across your vision as you ride out your climax in your brother’s ass, yanking up on the belt you’ve got wrapped around his throat so that he chokes. You pump yourself into him a few more times for good measure, giving his balls one more solid squeeze before you release the belt and his dick, leaving him to collapse once more to the futon.

“Good boy.” You give his ass a smack. Once again, he swats uselessly at your hand still struggling to catch his breath. Grinning, you continue. “Maybe I should wear your ass out more often, leave you sore, see how you like it.” And then, because your brother raised you right and you’re not a _complete_ asshole: “You want a drink?”

When he responds, his voice is raspy, dry. “More n’ a drink.” When he moves to sit up, he winces. “I’m gonna fuck you up for that,” he notes, probing gingerly at the bruises that are developing between his legs. “God _damn._ ” But there’s still no heat in his voice. In fact, there’s something that sounds almost like...admiration? You can’t tell. It’s too unfamiliar for you to place it.

You grin at him as you head into the kitchen. You sure as hell hope he fucks you up later. You’re looking forward to seeing what he sounds like when he’s fucking on a sore dick.

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to amporatrash for betaing for me!  
> This is a gift for Fish, and it's also the first time I've ever written CBT. So! Forgive me if it's terrible.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
